Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (32)

He leaned in, bracing himself on either side of me, his expression smoldering enough to start a fire. “Liar.”

Before I dug myself a deeper grave, his mouth slanted over mine, stealing my breath and any further denial as easily as he’d stolen my soul.





NINE


His kiss consumed and seduced me. Just as he’d meant it to. It wasn’t fast or hard or fueled by hatred or fury. It was an ember, a promise of the blazing fire to come with a bit of careful tending. I almost considered it sweet—the kind of chaste embrace two courting lovers stole when their chaperone wasn’t looking—until he slowly raised my arms above my head, pinning me to the wall by my wrists. He took my bottom lip between his teeth and bit down gently. Then I remembered: he was no angel. And I was suddenly all too willing to be damned.

Curse this realm and its fiendish machinations. Its need for sin. My undeniable need for him. Right now there was no blood oath with the devil. No betrothal or obligations to my family. There was only this moment, this wicked prince, and the heat steadily building between us.

Wrath’s body molded against mine, rock hard and unyielding in all the right places. Whatever hunger I felt was equally matched by him. I wish I hated it. I wish I didn’t run my tongue over his lips, or sigh as he obeyed my silent demand and deepened our kiss.

This new kiss devoured, plundered, stole. It was apology and wanting and a fierce refusal to submit to any true feelings all in one. Primal need at its most basic level. I couldn’t tell if letting myself give in to this wild feeling frightened or thrilled me.

I yanked away, breathing hard. “Is this real?”

“Yes.”

As if to prove the truth in his statement, his hips rolled forward and I was almost certain the whole castle quaked the second our bodies connected. There was no mistaking how much this dark prince wanted me. I grabbed the lapels on his jacket and brought his lips back to mine.

For one heart-thundering moment, I wished he’d hike my gown up right there, bury himself deep inside me and release every last one of my trapped desires. I longed to forget where I was and what I had to do. I wanted to abandon all of the hurt and pain and grief that were never far. All I desired was the sweet oblivion of touch. Wrath could easily provide that. And more.

He leashed himself and broke away from our kiss, only to begin languidly stroking the top of my bodice. Need flared through me and seemed to mirror itself in him. He dragged his hands down my sides, gripping me a little tighter to his body. “You may destroy me yet.”

“Sooner rather than later if you don’t stop talking and kiss me again.”

“Demanding, angelic creature.”

He smiled indulgently at me, then obliged. This kiss. It was slow and drugging and made me realize he wasn’t the only one in danger of being destroyed. He tilted my face up, traced the line of my jaw, then slid his fingers down my neck, lightly brushing them across my pulse point.

Tiny bits of electricity sparked beneath his caress. I’d almost forgotten he’d Marked me, giving me a way to summon him without using his House dagger. The tiny, nearly invisible S tingled. Nonna said the Mark was a high honor, one that was rarely given.

She hadn’t been pleased.

I immediately tunneled back into myself and forced the addictive quality of his kisses aside. I almost felt the magic of the world recede like the tide going out, its disappointment crashing in reluctant waves around us.

Wrath gently released his hold on me, sensing the emotional shift.

“Why?” I managed to get one word out, my voice still thick with desire.

“I didn’t think you’d prefer an audience.”

An indecent image of him taking me on the dining room table flashed across my mind. It was so vivid I swore I heard sounds of shock from guests as their prince showed me just how sinful he could be, glasses shattering and forks clattering onto the finest demon china as Wrath drove us both over the edge, heedless of anyone who looked on.

I swallowed a nervous giggle. That entrance would certainly make an impression House Wrath would not soon forget. I shoved those scandalous thoughts away.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Though I did wonder why he decided to kiss me now.

His teeth bared in a semblance of a smile, a knowing gleam entering his eyes. Evasion admitted. I couldn’t help but shake my head, my lips curling up at the edges. It was progress, small though it may be. Or maybe I was finally learning to read him better. Though I suspected—in this particular moment—he was also not trying to hide from me as much. I tried not to let wariness ruin the moment.

“I was talking about Marking me. Not whatever”—I nodded between us—“this is.”

He searched my face for a strained minute, the last vestiges of heat leaving his expression. His eyes were nearly solid black now. This time there was no mistaking the rumble that shook the castle. He rolled his shoulders, as if releasing tension in them and between us.

Wrath held his arm out to me, all traces of passion wiped from his face.

Here stood the cold and unfeeling prince of Hell.

“We can’t linger anymore. It’s time to meet my court.”





Our arrival outside the oversized bone-carved doors of the royal dining hall was a blur. I couldn’t recall if Wrath had spoken to me on our seemingly endless walk here, or if he’d escorted me in complete, stoic silence. It was likely the latter; I couldn’t imagine him ever engaging in something as pedestrian as inquiring about my day or the weather.